Of all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest.
She seldomhad to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs,
and the scalding waters rushedthrough its walls and chambers1 like blood
through a man’s body, driving the chill from the stonehalls, filling the glass
gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open poolssmoked
day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter,
itwas the difference between life and death.
Catelyn’s bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch.
The warmthreminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure,
but Ned could never abide3 theheat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would
tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in thatcase they had certainly built their
castle in the wrong place.
So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a
thousand timesbefore. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries5,
and threw open the high narrowwindows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber2.
The wind swirled6 around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed.
Catelyn pulledthe furs to her chin and watched him. He looked somehow smaller and
more vulnerable, like theyouth she had wed7 in the sept at Riverrun, fifteen long
years gone. Her loins still ached from theurgency of his lovemaking. It was a good
ache. She could feel his seed within her. She prayed that itmight quicken there.
It had been three years since Rickon. She was not too old. She could give himanother son.
“I will refuse him,” Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted,
his voice thick withdoubt.
Catelyn sat up in the bed. “You cannot. You must not.”
“My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert’s Hand.”
“He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men.
If you refuse toserve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to
suspect that you oppose him.
Can’t you see the danger that would put us in?”
Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. “Robert would never harm me or any of mine.
We werecloser than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and
bluster8, and in a week wewill laugh about it together. I know the man!”
“You knew the man,” she said. “The king is a stranger to you.” Catelyn remembered
the direwolfdead in the snow, the broken antler lodged9 deep in her throat.
She had to make him see. “Pride iseverything to a king, my lord. Robert came
all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors,you cannot throw them
back in his face.”
“Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly.
“In his eyes, yes,” she said.
“And in yours?”
“And in mine,” she blazed, angry now. Why couldn’t he see? “He offers his own son
in marriageto our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be
queen. Her sons could rulefrom the Wall to the mountains of Dorne.
What is so wrong with that?”
“Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,” Ned said. “And Joffrey … Joffrey is …”
She finished for him. “… crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only
twelve whenmy father promised me to your brother Brandon.”
That brought a bitter twist to Ned’s mouth. “Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know
what to do. Healways did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything.
He was born to be a King’sHand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup
to pass to me.”
“Perhaps not,” Catelyn said, “but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you
must drinkfrom it, like it or not.”
Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness,
watching themoon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries10 on the wall.
Catelyn softened11 then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark4 had married her in
Brandon’s place, as customdecreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay
between them, as did the other, the shadow of thewoman he would not name,
the woman who had borne him his bastard12 son.
She was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected.
Ned turned,frowning. “What is it?”
Desmond’s voice came through the door. “My lord, Maester Luwin is without and
begs urgentaudience.”
“You told him I had left orders not to be disturbed?”
“Yes, my lord. He insists.”
“Very well. Send him in.”
Ned crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn realized suddenly
how cold ithad become. She sat up in bed and pulled the furs to her chin.
“Perhaps we should close thewindows,” she suggested.
Ned nodded absently. Maester Luwin was shown in.
The maester was a small grey man. His eyes were grey, and quick, and saw much.
His hair wasgrey, what little the years had left him. His robe was grey wool, trimmed
with white fur, the Starkcolors. Its great floppy13 sleeves had pockets hidden inside.
Luwin was always tucking things into thosesleeves and producing other things from
them: books, messages, strange artifacts, toys for thechildren. With all he kept hidden
in his sleeves, Catelyn was surprised that Maester Luwin could lifthis arms at all.
The maester waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke14.
“My lord,” he said toNed, “pardon for disturbing your rest. I have been left a message.”
Ned looked irritated. “Been left? By whom? Has there been a rider? I was not told.”
“There was no rider, my lord. Only a carved wooden box, left on a table in my
observatory15 whileI napped. My servants saw no one, but it must have been brought
by someone in the king’s party. Wehave had no other visitors from the south.”
“A wooden box, you say?” Catelyn said.
“Inside was a fine new lens for the observatory, from Myr by the look of it.
The lenscrafters ofMyr are without equal.”
Ned frowned. He had little patience for this sort of thing, Catelyn knew.
“A lens,” he said. “Whathas that to do with me?”
“I asked the same question,” Maester Luwin said. “Clearly there was more to
this than theseeming.”
Under the heavy weight of her furs, Catelyn shivered. “A lens is an instrument
to help us see.”
“Indeed it is.” He fingered the collar of his order; a heavy chain worn tight around
the neckbeneath his robe, each link forged from a different metal.
Catelyn could feel dread16 stirring inside her once again. “What is it that they would
have us seemore clearly?”
“The very thing I asked myself.” Maester Luwin drew a tightly rolled paper out of his
sleeve. “Ifound the true message concealed17 within a false bottom when I dismantled18
the box the lens had comein, but it is not for my eyes.”
Ned held out his hand. “Let me have it, then.”
Luwin did not stir. “Pardons, my lord. The message is not for you either.
It is marked for
the eyesof the Lady Catelyn, and her alone. May I approach?”
Catelyn nodded, not trusting to speak. The maester placed the paper on the table
beside the bed. Itwas sealed with a small blob of blue wax. Luwin bowed and began
to retreat.
“Stay,” Ned commanded him. His voice was grave. He looked at Catelyn. “What is it?
My lady,you’re shaking.”